Thicke’s Enquiry!

11

Six O’clock rebound!

The three o’clock meeting has been brought back by an hour. Chloe is not entirely happy but will have to get along as it was agreed between the three of them and being in a minority, for her is not a rare occasion although she could tell you that she hates the place. It’s too much hassle if one is to make a big deal out of it. ‘The two o’clock!? What was that all about?’ She asks Agim. ‘I don’t actually know. He just said that he would like to bring the whole day forward. He wants to leave soon after the meeting. You know what he is like! Acting slightly weirdly lately. I must say.’ Agim perseveres on his keyboard. Kwame is busy too. Chloe is the only one who seem to be less strangled by work. She sits back on her chair and scours through on the screen. She ticks all the boxes on a small section on her screen called “Current Calls”. She feels relieved but not entirely sure if this sense of relief is what she wants. She pulls one of the screens that she had opened a while back. Its Thicke’s profile. She reads his bio to the smallest of the details. Apart from his years in Cambridge, nothing else seems to be that interesting to her eye. She closes and then opens the profile again. She writes Thicke’s profile number down and then his mobile number in a yellow pad. She closes the screen, grabs her overcoats and off she goes. ‘I will be remote today am afraid. Text me if anything urgent!’ Thicke tells Agim. He leaves office and heads for the Truman’s. In there the bar maid knows Thicke’s requirements. A Fuller’s Vintage pint awaits him on the tap. ‘Tough day Mister.’ She teases him. ‘Not really. Quite the opposite. It’s weird because I am awaiting this call all day today and everything else around me has stopped.’ He raises his eyebrows and looks at the bar maid who is not paying any attention he was saying as she must see other clients. ‘Wish I did have that kind of day!’ She comes closer and throws him a pink towel. ‘That’s what I am going to do one day. Am fed-up with the pay and everything else in here. You get treated like shit.’ Thicke slurps another time and then something crosses his mind. He looks at the bar maid and says to her in a flinching way ‘Do you want a job?’ She stops. She doesn’t know how to react to the rushed and out of the blue offer. ‘You mean me working for the police?’ She said with her side lip raised in an expression of disgust. ‘No. I am not police. I don’t work for the police. I am an investigator. Helping to solve murder enquiries. I am offering you a nice and cushy job. Paid in cash and all you must do is just follow a few simple instructions. You will work with me only. My team would not know that you are part of our gang. Sounds appealing!?’ He slurps one more time. The bar maid gets closer and after she pushes her blonde hair back, she says ‘How much do you pay and what do I need to do for you?’ Thicke finishes the drink, pushes the empty pint away towards here now over-bending chest at the top of the bar ‘Let’s meet for a quick chat when you have your break.’ The bar maid responds with a ‘Yes. Will be with you in ten!’ Thicke walks out. Switches his red phone off and leaves the black one on. He walks across the street next to the front area of Old Spitalfields Market. The bar maid leaves quickly enough after she had found a cover for her job. She spots Thicke across the road and then tells Thicke that she had left the job and she is available. ‘Let’s go and celebrate!’ She tells him. Thicke has something in mind. He waves the cab, and both hop on and head for the Club Quarters from Fleet Street. Two hours of drink and laughter, Thicke feels that he must be careful not to overdo the drink. He has only two hours left until the six o’clock phone call. ‘Shall we pop upstairs. Do you want to see my room!?’ He spoke. ‘The bar maid is unsure to respond to him. Flattened by the drink she says, ‘Yeah why not.’ They both hop on the lift and straight onto the room. The place is massive with a direct view on the street below. The bar-maid gets closer to the window and looks over ‘Oh wow. This is quite high. It reminds me of my parent’s council estate. We used to live in this huge skyscraper. My dad used to peer over the railings when smoking his cheap fags and that used to terrify me because I never knew what his intentions were!’ Then she stops, turns around and looks Thicke in the eyes ‘He then, one day jumped over and killed himself. I wasn’t home. Mum was there and she saw it all in a slow motion.’ Her face loses the red-blooded cheeks, she looks down and Thicke puts his arm round her. She then looks at him again, he holds her chin and raises her head, gently, then kisses her forehead and then the left cheek and then he kisses her in the lips. She is surprised. She then pushes him slightly but unsure to refuse him or to just let her body fall into his palms. Then her red cheeks become redder, her heart pulsates wildly, her legs start to shake. She is not sure whether to go along with it or say something to put him off. She is beginning to like what Thicke is doing to her. She smiles at him. He puts his other arm around her waist and pulls her gently towards him. She then smiles a little bit more. Red cheeks disappear. She has decided to go with the flow. She hasn’t interacted with a man for a very long time. Her body shakes and especially when Thicke uses more force to get her to lie down. She is breathless for a fraction of a second or so. They both stare at each other before Thicke begins removing her tights and then her top. The bra proves to be a difficulty, instead Thicke decides to use his teeth to undo the buttons. She giggles and she smiles. She is much more relaxed now and she is loving the experience.

**

Thicke is in the bar waiting for the call. The desperation, mixed with the sense of excitement is shown in his face while he sips his whiskey. He looks at his phone every second that he has at disposal. He has ignored emails and all contact with the office. Chloe, in the other hand has been trying to get in touch with him but to no avail. All he wants to do now is here the voice on the other end of the phone. It is 5.59 and the phone rings. He sips one more time and answers ‘Thicke...’ ‘Shut up and listen!’ The voice from the other side of the phone says. ‘I am all ears!’ Thicke responds. ‘Ok. Right opposite you there is a café ‘Coco Di Mama’. Go there and ask for the brown envelope. Tell them is from “Rodrick”. Do it now before this called is traced.’ And hangs up. Thicke leaves the bar and trying not to be seen as if he is panicking, he crosses the road and sees the owner is about to pull the shutters down. ‘Excuse me, excuse me! Please stop. I have come to collect the envelope – from Rodrick!’ The owner looks at him disliking. ‘Where have you been man? I have been waiting all afternoon for this envelope to be collected.’ He then pushes the shutters slightly up so he can get access to the door. He goes behind the counter and picks up the brown envelope. He walks slowly back hands the envelope to Thicke and says ‘Ah, you look very smart and beautiful to people who bring these envelopes to me here…hahaha!’ Thicke finds that insertion interesting. ‘Do you see Rodrick at all!?’ Thicke asks. The chubby man pulls the shutters down and asks Thicke to give him a hand to lock the right side of the shutters as he struggles with it. ‘Of course!’ Thicke responds. ‘You ask about Rodrick. Huh. He is not a person. This is just some random code that they use when they ship these envelopes. And to be honest, if you are a cop and want to dig in deeper on these things – I am not the address. Because I don’t know these people, I have no connection with any of that stuff they do, and I know absolutely nobody who deal with these things. The only thing I do is I allow them to use my shop as a dropping point and this is because they pay me a nice fee.’ When the chubby man mentions ‘a fee’, Thicke has alarms on his head ringing. ‘A fee!?’ Thicke asks again to make sure he has heard him properly. ‘Yes. A fee!’ The chubby man responds with a raised eyebrow and a twinkle of surprise. ‘I need to know the origin of the fees! I need to know where it comes from?’ Thicke said. ‘So, you are a cop then!? The chubby man responds back. ‘Yes, I am a cop and I need your help. This is very important. You really don’t understand how important this is to me!’ Thick said. ‘Ok, ok, ok – I get it. Let me show you.’ He pulls his smartphone and after flicking on his bank app he shows him the screen. ‘This is what I get every 12th of the month!’ He shows him the amount £2000 Somerset Asset Management – Singapore. ‘So, it’s a foreign transaction! Ok. Do you mind if I ask you – how did you come across this bunch?’ The chubby man says that this was during the time when the city was in the crises, and I needed the dosh. Two thousand pounds was very hard thing to refuse, and I would be doing not much really! Common sense isn’t it!?’ and then he laughs. ‘Do you want me to attend the station?’ the chubby man happy to come clean. ‘No, it’s fine. It’s fine. Thank you for your time. I really appreciate it!’ Thicke tries to cross the street to head for the hotel ‘I will see you again because these brown envelopes are not a one-off…hahahaha!’ He then hops on his car and drives off, leaving Thicke with the plenty of food for thought.

**

Chloe’s message to Thicke reads: “We have established DNA results on the cig butts. All positive. Same suspect. It’s the neighbour!’ Thicke responds immediately: “Thanks. Let’s catch-up first thing in the morning W!’

The table in the hotel doesn’t seem too big to lay out all the papers. The barmaid now quickly has turned into Thicke’s sex object, ‘Could you please help me lay out these pages in the numerical order in bad!?’ He asks her. She obliges and takes a few pages from the pile that Thicke has left in the chair next to him. There are over thirty-three pages, all scattered around the bad, the desk and in the floor. ‘Ah wow. I know him. Shit…I know her too!’ The barmaid says while covering her mouth. ‘What do you mean you know them!?’ Thicke asks staggered and frozen. ‘I know them two!’ They used to come in every afternoon at four in the bar. I have served them drinks. They are flirtatious with each other…sometimes, some other times they seem too serious, and they spend hours working away in the corner of the pub. I have served them food and drinks dozens of times!’ Thicke is stunned. He feels that the proximity that the barmaid is creating with him, and his enquiry might help. He knows that he can utilise her and that he is going to make the most of it. ‘Ok. Right. This is what we’re going to do!’ He spoke. ‘I will need you to do two things for me: first, I will give you some money and you will spend a considerable time in these ten pubs…!’ He points them in the maps. You will then collect information based on who you see and what sort of people you are encountering. I need you to be alert though. I need you to call me straight away if you see any of these two. Wherever you are you will call me.’ The barmaid is slightly scared but will go along with it. ‘We need to discuss the wage and the hours. I can’t be sitting in pubs all week without a clear timeline!’ Thicke looks at his smartphone. ‘Yes. You will get paid weekly in cash and how about £3k!?’ The barmaid isn’t sure how to respond to that. She hasn’t seen three grand a week ever in her life. This is a well-paid adventure – she thinks to herself. ‘Sounds good.’ She responds. ‘Ok. Let me just make a few things clear – first you need to be able to know that I work discreetly even with my team. So, I don’t share anything with them. You only deal with me. There will be caution when my team will approach you and all you need to do is come straight to me. Is that clear!?’ ‘Yes.’ She responds motivated and eager. ‘How about our thing…!?’ She asks. ‘What thing...aha, I see. Of course. It depends on you really. If you are still willing to pursue this. We can. I think we should. I like you very much.’ He gets closer to her, kisser her and then gives her a phone. ‘This is the only instrument of contact with me. Its off-line and doesn’t have any net on it. You will get in touch with me if you need anything else.’ She nods her head and raises her thumb up. He kisses her in the cheek and leaves her. He knows he can’t read the content of the papers on the train. So, he decides to stay downstairs in the bar. He reads through the files and notices that there are drawings of some sort in the background of the text. There are a lot of drawings. He raises one of the pages and holds it up to see in the light. The drawings are of bodies being dismembered and what it seems like a processing lab where half of somebody’s body is being cut thinly. He raises another paper up and sees the similar thing – bodies being sliced up and blood being drained away from the bodies and transferred onto these long tubes which extract the plasma from the blood and liquidities the blood stream with some sort of colouring. He checks all the papers up in the light and is stunned to see that many of them have similar themes. He notices in one of the papers that there reflects the picture taker in the background. He reads on his mask “Cross Sciences Veterinary Exploration Institute” ‘Huh!’ He mutters. He then texts Chloe asking her to check out this institute. ‘Nothing of good use. Only articles by these well-known vet scientists based in Australia. Nothing else!’ Comes back the response from Chloe. He then glances at the documents once again. He picks the last one – numbered in Gothic long-hand “*Beacon of the trees, there lays the smut and the beautiful of these, whose limbs and daftly streams life out of progenitive!” Then he reads on: ‘I am careful not to spoil any secrets and get caught. I don’t want to get caught. But there is a big infiltration. Big people. Loads of them. All the cream of society. Its big out there. And it isn’t a conspiracy. You need to look at it. It is so big it can be beautiful and very much appealing to a lot of people who have wealth. Hear me out. It’s in the borders of West London. You need to spend more time in there. Paul is trouble. He works for them. You need to watch your back. If you can discover this note, then you can do anything to help. Good luck and speed up!’ The note ends. Thicke collects all his stuff and heads off to call an air-taxi. He is tired and he needs his rest.

12

Freedom brings responsibility, and the latter brings hardship

‘The sleep has been a fricking nightmare!’ Amelia mutters to herself. The driver asks her for directions as they come near the Hanbury Street turning from Commercial Street. ‘Its first right after the pub!’ She tells him passively whilst she is looking on her smartphone. She is sure she has her keys in her handbag. She looks everywhere but can’t find any keys. The driver pulls up near the red door. ‘Is this the address ma’am!?’ He asks hurriedly. ‘Yes, yes. Just give me a moment please. I need to try and find my keys. Please bear with me for a few moments please!’ The driver proceeds on as he has other cars in pursuit right behind. ‘Where are you going?’ She said in a panicky tone. ‘Nowhere. Am just trying to let other cars past behind me!’ She still can’t find her keys until she realises that she is holding them with her long fingers clutching them hard unaware that those are her keys. ‘I got them. I found them. Sorry. Is it safe to come out!?’ She asks the driver. ‘Of course. Thank you!’ It’s only a few steps away from the red door and she can’t wait to get in. Once she enters the corridor, she knows that the place isn’t in the same state as she left a few weeks ago. ‘Fuckers. They have got in and messed up my flat! Pricks.’ She whispers to herself. She picks up all her clothing and books to try and line them up in the bookshelves and then tidies up the kitchen. She then, without much hesitation wants to see her walking freezer room. All they have done there is tidied up and taken all the chemicals and instruments. Amelia is angry with this, with their approach and their dogged determination to take everything out of her hand. A lot of things go through her mind. She sits in her desk next to the window overlooking Brick Lane. Its grim out there and its late but with the windows opened, she can see that there is a lot of life just a few feet down below her flat. She is envious but her bloodthirstiness doesn’t allow her to focus on the softer matters of life. She needs to get on with it and she has a lot to plan. She opens a few of the boxes she has stored in her storeroom and begins piling books and a few of her personal belongings in them. They soon become very heavy, but she manages to finish almost all her books by three o’clock in the morning. Her notebook is staring at her face, and she wants to sit down to do some more writing. The problem with her approach to things such as ‘Planning’ and ‘Organising’ is that it isn’t her type of thing. She despises all things structure. She is a free soul and only in that space she can sustain a life of solace and fulfilment. She sits down and begins writing. She draws the diagrams of her next moves. ‘It’s got to be where there is wealth and I hit the weakest ones!’ She whispers to herself. ‘It’s got to be a clean age-range. It must be fresh meat. 25-45. That’s my aim. I need to see what their drinking habits are. I need to know where they live. I need to know what their professions are, I need to know if they have any attachments. I need to find the most vulnerable who are full of bile when it comes to their lives being hard and unbearable. I will call their bluffs. I can’t wait to see their faces when they hear their own throats being sliced up and their limbs being torn up and removed whilst they still breathing. She then looks in the side mirror she has placed a few years ago. She postures herself pretty. She gets closer to the mirror and smells the reflective glass. She looks herself in the mirror directly without any hindrance or abnormality. She opens her mouth and stares at her teeth. They are beautiful teeth. They are all unfilled and as pure as they grew when she was in her younger age. She then sticks her tongue out and looks at every single pore in the skin of her tongue. Then she pushes her tongue longer and harder until she feels the blood streaming out under her tongue. Then she swallows the few droplets of blood she has left after under the tongue cut and rises on her feet. She takes her top off. She then closes the blinds in the window. She takes her jeans off and inspects her body thoroughly trying to figure out if there is anything that they have done to her when she was in their custody. She turns back and looks at the pelvis area, she pulls her butt cheeks slightly up from behind and tries to catch an angle of her vagina from the standing up pose. She can’t see much only the two small flaps that can be seen through her potato slicer shaped space between her thighs. She then lets her hair down. ‘It’s too much!’ She says nervously. She picks up the trimmer and begins shaving all the hair she has left on her. She shaves her under-arms area and then her legs. She is much more satisfied now that she has managed to remove all the excess hair. She has a long shower until her skin becomes so soft that she sees layer of her Achilles falling off. She steps out of the bathroom and sweeps the towel wrapping it around her body. She then drops the towel in the floor and puts music on. Its five-thirty now. She doesn’t need any sleep. Its hunting day. She increases the volume of Vivaldi in G Major. The volume is too high, but she feels numb but good. She then wants to pick up a pair of loose jeans, a cap, and a black top with a hoodie. Trainers are Nike threes. Then she sprays a lot of deodorant in her body. Looks at the boxes she has assembled in the middle of the lounge and flicks her fingers to say ‘Yep. Good job!’ The bike in the corridor has a flat tyre. She inflates it quickly before she lowers the sound of the music. Then off she takes onto Hanbury Street heading for Central London.

The traffic isn’t too bad. It’s a bank holiday and pubs will be full. Covent Garden is a very busy part of Central London. She heads for the Great Queen Street. Goes past The United Great Lodge of England. Sees a lot of movement in the nearby gastroland. ‘Too crowded and a lot of powerful people here. Don’t want to risk it too much. Then she heads for the Charing Cross Road. “Garrick Arms” – she stops just outside it. Ties her bike in the rack and takes her smart phone out pretending she is awaiting a call. The pedestrianised area in front of the pub has been closed and the table and chairs are out. The place is swarming with people. She walks in after she had made sure that her bike is tied properly. She walks in the pub. There’s a lot of commotion and noise. Everybody is with everybody. She scans the area from corner to corner. Not much to do there but she likes the smell. ‘It’s feminine smell. This is dating hub!’ She mutters to herself. She continues to whisper on her phone, pretending to be seen as if she is talking to somebody. She then goes to the bar after she has decided to be a little bit more approachable, visible for any hangers on swarming around the bar area. It doesn’t go very long and a youthful looking fifty-something approaches. You can tell he is a well-off fellow. She notices his desperation, his almost mouth-watering need to strike a conversation. She then decides to ignore him. He sits not too far from her. She is at the edge of the bar area. He looks at her and smiles. She doesn’t respond initially. But, then after a few seconds she does reciprocate and gives him a tiny smile. Only her lower lips move, and no other interest is aroused from her. She manages to take a photo scan of the gentleman. She pings his picture in the search box and then his biography pops up instantly. She can’t believe it. This is going to be a waste of time. She knows that if she spends longer in the pub, she will have been wasting a few precious hours and the day will just end in some disaster that she can’t predict how it will turn out to be for her mission. She leaves the bar area, and the man decides to follow her immediately. She notices she is being followed. A thought triggers her that she needs to lose him and lose him quickly. But the man is too fast and agile for her. ‘Come on there. All I want is just a chat. You don’t have to run away from as if I am a monster!’ The mad said. Amelia stops and turns her head toward him. ‘Excuse me!?’ The man stops, with one hand in one pocket and the other holding a fag, smiles and then quickly starts moving towards Amelia with a faster pace. ‘All I wanted was just to have a chat with you. I saw you there all by yourself and I was wondering if you were interested to have a drink. I am Patrick by the way.’ He extends his hand, but Amelia doesn’t reciprocate. A lot of things go through her mind at that second. If she extends her hand than this could be a long slog of commitments. She knows very well that she can’t do that. She also knows that meeting somebody new could offer new opportunities for her hunt objectives. ‘Am Rebecca. Nice to meet you!’ She extends her hand and they both go inside the pub sitting at the far end of the pub. The evening hasn’t gone as bad as he thought it would be. By the first hour of the morning in the next day, she found herself in this huge house somewhere in Oxfordshire, totally naked and by herself. The bed is massive. The windows have been opened and an old lady maid is serving her tea in the corner of the room whilst Amelia is staring in her phone screen to see what time it is. Patrick walks in after a few minutes and after he says, ‘Good morning, Rebecca!’ He keeps up the tempo of politeness by extending the courtesy of asking her if she had slept well and if she is ok. She hates these small entry talks when old man, especially old farts after they have endured a good night of goofy sex the starting line is thrown ‘Look, about last night…!’ She hates that. One thing that goes in her mind now is that this cheap talk isn’t going to go anywhere and that she is not going to sit there and be told by him that this was just a one night stand off but depending how you look at life, we could pursue a more meaningful relationship. ‘Well. Just to say that last night was one of the best nights I have ever had with a woman for a very long time. And I mean when I say that!’ Patrick tells her. She sips her tea from the cup and looks at Patrick awkwardly. She doesn’t know what to say. She stands there like a dead wood and doesn’t have nothing to say. After another sip of tea, she then lets a few words out ‘Thank you. I had a lovely time too. Thank you.’ Then she follows it with a less compelling line ‘Is this your house? Or are we in some sort of posh hotel?’ Patrick smiles. ‘No, this is my place. We’re in Oxfordshire. I know it might come as a shock to you, but I am quite a recluse who hasn’t got much of a life really.’ He then gets up and moves away from the bed and slowly and thoughtfully approaches the drinks table which is placed just by the window on the right of Amelia. He sips a few more gulps and then some water. ‘I don’t want to bother you much. If you have time at your disposal, I would like to take you to a special place later this afternoon!?’ He stops and with his drink in his hand he continues ‘What do you think?’ Amelia at this moment gets out of her bed and heads for the bathroom. Patrick is hopeful that he will get a response from her. ‘Of course. I can make time!’ She responds from the bathroom, the sound of her voice echoing like stone ripples in a still lake. She walks back in the bedroom completely naked. Patrick’s face is lit up instantly but unable to do anything. He feels that he has been forced to wear his day clothes and this feeling of tightness around his neck and the chest area holds his excitement down, pressurizes his inner thoughts to behave themselves and in turn make him a man who is considerate even though the ultra-emotions and the zeal to jump in at the first opportunity to seize the moment precludes everything else in his moral and ethical compass. Patrick turns his head away and looks out at the window. Whereas Amelia pulled a long and thick towel, wraps it around her head and then walks into the bathroom. Patrick leaves the bedroom and heads out to the garage to pick the right vehicle for his new guest.

**

The after-racing show is normally a low-key event unless you are Patrick Flynn and then you invite half of your town to participate in an after-race ‘Drinkolade’ as he calls it. For Amelia, this new setting is exciting. She already has amassed several people whom she will contact and be in touch in the coming days. She has all of them lined up and ready to be picked up for her later hunt. A young dashing fellow strikes her as somebody who might be a potential. She abandons Patrick for a minute or so and heads towards the bar area. The young figure cuts a quite dynamic but beautifully faced figure. As she approaches the bar, she notices that the young lad is a little distracted on his phone. ‘Hello there.’ She speaks. ‘Hi. How can I help you!?’ the dashing young man responds almost in a hurry with a slight foreign accent. Amelia likes the response, and she likes the accent even more. ‘Would you care to serve me a gin and tonic please? Am a bit thirsty!’ The young man gives her a quick smile and then an ‘Of course ma’am.’ Amelia doesn’t like the ma’am bit, but she decides to ignore that for a second or so. She bites her upper lip and without moving her eyes from him she feels she needs to say something ‘You been busy today?’ The young man turns himself towards her. She knows a talkative person when she sees one. She scents blood and this is some sweet blood. ‘Yes. It has. I have been all alone this morning until re-enforcements arrived.’ And then he smiles. He then picks up the tall and thin glass with gin and tonic poured on it and a slice of orange hanging from the edges. ‘Here we go. Hope you enjoy it!’ She manages to touch his finger as he pushes the glass toward her. ‘Very smooth skin. Mediterranean?’ She asks. The young man is taken aback by Amelia’s directness. ‘Yes, yes. I am. Corsica. Am Corsican!’ Then he smiles, widens his collar as if to create more breathing room for his already well-built chest and beautiful long neck. ‘Aha. So French or Italian?’ She asks now even more interested on him. ‘Albanian, actually. Am Albanian!’ She sips her gin and then moves slightly forward ‘I like your tattoo!’ She says ‘Can I see it closely? Please?’ The young dashing man gets closer, pulls his right sleeve slightly and shows Amelia the tattoo. ‘Who’s he!?’ She asks him speedily without realising that she has asked the question way too quickly. ‘He is Hannibal Barca. My hero. You know he is the only Carthaginian general who withstood and resisted the great armies of Rome.’ Amelia senses that the young man is full of passion but then she would want to know more. ‘Why do you like him so much?’ She asks. ‘Well, I guess, I don’t know I just think that resisting Rome at the time he’s done it it’s an achievement, a great achievement. I think. I like strength and power and robustness.’ He picks up a few wet cups and rinses them then gets hold of a cloth and dries the cups. Amelia in the meantime scratches her head but watches the young man’s mouth losing herself in the fascinating insight that the young man has of the ancient history and culture. ‘Wow. This is interesting.’ She then looks back and notices that Patrick from the distance is looking for her. ‘Listen. I didn’t get your name!?’ She wallops the shot ‘Burim. My name’s Burim.’ ‘Thank you for the drink. And so lovely to meet you. I don’t know where you are based, but anytime you happen to be at the British Museum in London just ask for me. I will be there. I could give you a privileged tour of the place.’ She smiles and then as she is about to hop off the bar stool Burim asks her for the phone number. She smiles and then points at the paper tray beneath the glass ‘My numbers there. Ring me.’ She winks her left eye and says Ciao to him. Within seconds of her leaving the bar, Burim sends her a text message. ‘Tuesday at 12? Is that a good time for you?’ Amelia doesn’t respond for now. She waves at Patrick who is only a few feet away. ‘Sorry, I lost you!’ she said ‘My apologies. I seemed to have lost you. Was in to deep a conversation with my friends.’ She looks at him as if to say that she is fine and she doesn’t mind. Now they both head towards the crowd of men where Patrick is supposed to introduce Amelia to his friends. They all wave a ‘Hi’, well-mannered man but too clean cut for her and very old. She knows that the greatest pleasure she can get now is the boring conversations with super rich men. She wonders for a moment if they are in IT as well. She tries to reminisce and see if she can find any traces of it but is unable to do so. These men are too much attached to what they do, and they haven’t got an idea of the world of pleasure beyond comprehension. She knows none of them are any good hunt. Its isn’t worth it. She is convinced. ‘Patrick!’ She whispers on his ear silently ‘Am afraid I have to dash. This has been a lovely day and I need to head back to London.’ Patrick is slightly surprised by her sudden departure but loses no face. ‘of course. Let me arrange a car for you. Listen, you are a great person. I really do enjoy our company. Can I count on us meeting again?’ He says those words but deeply insecure if they are going to mean anything meaningful to Amelia. He notices that she is not somebody who is keen on emotional attachments but what bothers him more is the lack of intimacy, deeper, longer, and more meaningful conversation that he wanted to have with her. ‘Of course. You have my number. Let’s keep in touch!’ She kisses him in both cheeks, and he kisses her back. They wave at each other from the distance and amidst all the crowds and noise of people in the ground, Amelia throws another look at Burim who for a minute seemed to be super busy, but he never fails to see her and wave her a good-bye and ‘Call-me’ sign from afar.

**

Patrick’s hospitality has been a rewarding experience for her. After she arrived at home, she pulls the pile of photos she has taken on her smartphone and downloads them onto a hard drive. Her secret hard drive. Names, addresses, professions and locations and more detailed information on over hundred or so people whom Patrick has businesses with. She starts to jot names and addresses down. Two characters strike her as interesting. William Thornbury and Christopher Jennings. Both are business associates of Patrick. She pulls up a map of their estate. It is something. Then she looks at their personal profiles. Thornburry is married and has three daughters. Two twins and a sixteen-year-old at a Boarding School. Jennings is married thrice and has three sets of children. They are all grown up and have flown the nest. Thornburry is big in arbitrage business. Once arbitrage comes in her mind, Amelia becomes something else. She looks at the business history of Thornburry and sees the failures, complete evaporation of hard-earned wealth of decent people and businesses, then she thinks of her father who had bankrupted twice because the arbitrage sharks wanted that to happen. She can’t forgive herself if she doesn’t revenge. She draws the plan of execution. It takes a lot of will and prep work. But she has the licence to pursue the execution and she must do it quickly, efficiently, and successfully.

The next day, Amelia is penetrating the Cheltenham area. Onto Cotswolds and she is happy enjoying fruits of nature, the masses of greenery and pure nature blossoming in a beautiful and quite warm Spring’s Day. But she can’t stop thinking about Arbitrage. As she drives through the patted and old narrow Roman roads heading towards Cirencester. She has never been there before but is excited that she is going to explore the place before moving on to see what Thornburry bring her. The road from the town to Castle-Combe is straight-forward but once Amelia gets there not everything is straightforward. The address for Thornburry is accurate but what is not right is that the place is a fortress. So fortified is the place that she is unable to even see his house from a distance. All she can see is a lot of people in four by fours entering the compound and then disappearing off to the natural colourings of green, into the woods and then onto the main road a few miles ahead. Amelia knows that she is exposed by sitting at the top of the hill in what it used to be the nightwatchmen’s holdall. She picks her binoculars up and then decides to penetrate deeper into the property. She makes the calculations of the area between the gates and the main front hall to see if she can penetrate them somehow during the evening. Then she sends her two drones up in the air. She needs to shoot these vehicles well high in the air. Then she switches the cameras on and off they go in the mass of the air disappearing in a whiff. After a few minutes once she manages to get a good hang of the drones positioning, she decides to lower them so they can capture imagery which she is in desperate need to have. The east-flank camera captures a crowd of people in the main garden area, sitting in a porch and enjoying a BBQ. Amelia takes more notes. She writes six children, teenagers, three other unknown women, two men and five bodyguards circling around the garden in navy-blue suits. The place must be at least twenty bedrooms and acres of acres of land. She is amazed but excited. She then looks at the west-flank drone giving her the feed from a different angle. In the farther west of the compound, outside the main house, there are two cottages. They are as big as the main house itself. She wants to know more and decides to lower the drone further deeper into proximity. The two cottages are well protected by dogs and a house robot. There are two house robots, one covers the outside area in the porch and the corridor leading to the main house and the other one is an indoor domesticated robot. ‘Why so much security!?’ She asks herself in awe. ‘Why, why, why’. She awaits darkness. Tonight, is the hunt night. West-flank drone is still in the air. Only two hours left of battery are in it. She munches on some crisps and a coke. She switches off all the lights inside her tent and decides to stay focused on the house. Its more than a house, it’s a castle, a never-ending stream of property with a lot of rooms, partly modern and partly baroque but stylised with all the post-modern latest architectural designs. It’s a marvellous piece of work which shines like a star from a galaxy not far from ours. She then notices movements. It’s seven p.m. William is on the move. He is on his night gown. He says something to the guard outside the main door entrance and then heads off for the cottage. The outside robot provides the light for the pathway and within a minute or so William hops inside his cottage. It is time to move. Amelia takes another look at all the data she has gathered so far from outside the property. She knows that by going inside the property, she will be risking a lot. But also, she knows full well that if she doesn’t then this will be bad for her. She must deliver, and she must do fast. She takes her rucksack. Inside it she has two Shaman knives, a machete, a pair of wire scissors and electroneutral. A mask and a pair of latex gloves. The rucksack has become slightly heavy. But not much she can do about that. She needs to get moving. Cutting through onto the property wasn’t that difficult after all. She has managed to go via the river entrance and onto the kitchen near fitness hall. Surprisingly one of the doors in the balcony upstairs was left open. Amelia has gambled on it and had made a lot of effort to climb the wall by using the window frame as a precursor to access the balcony and then onto balcony itself. When the door handle was loose and the door did open, Amelia was very happy. But she knows full well that she can’t afford to let her energies drop. She needs to keep her adrenaline going and going strong. Once through the room, she notices that the room was only used recently and that somebody might be in the shower. She stops and pulls her smartphone to see the list of people who might have still been in the property. She then decides to get closer to the shower room to see who is in there. A body of a woman, a young woman is seen from the distance. The blurred glass of the shower doesn’t give her enough detail to find out who that is. She looks back once more. She is convinced that to make matters easy for everybody, this should be it. She needs to get on with it and do it there. But who is this unknown woman in the shower!? The sound of small steps from the floor below are heard. She can’t make what it is. Then a small boy’s voice is heard ‘Muuuuuum, Amelia is not letting me play with my videogame!’ Amelia hides in the changing room, pulls the curtain, and doesn’t breathe. ‘I can’t hear you Tristram. Mummy can’t hear you. Am in the shower.’ Little Tristram comes closer to the changing room, grabs the curtain of the changing room where Amelia is standing there. Amelia has put her mask on. ‘Go in our room and play with Ted’s videogame and once I am done with the shower will come and sort out Amelia!’ Tristram’s Mum said. Little Tristram after receiving his Mum’s response, leaves the room and heads for downstairs. ‘Thank you Mummy. I love you Mummy!’

Amelia is relieved. She knows has established that this woman in the shower is a mother. But doesn’t know whether she is a young Mum or somebody who has decided to have children on their fifties. She looks at William’s profile but can’t find anything to suggest that he has small children. ‘This must be one of the guests probably.’ She tells herself. The shower’s off and the woman comes out of the cubicle and then onto to the make-up room. Amelia catches a glimpse of her. ‘Good.’ She tells herself quietly. This is her hunt. The woman in question must be in her thirties. She is very pretty. Blonde with an athletic built body, tall but with a kind face. Clearly a mother but she seems slightly anxious. There is something which is bothering her, and she can’t make out what it is. Obviously, people have issues, even people living in these haunted castles of wealth and affluence. Amelia needs to act before the woman puts her clothes on. Amelia looks at her watch and then looks at the entrance door before she slowly opens the curtain and moves slowly from behind the woman. She grabs her by the neck, tilts it right ways until she hears the crack of the spine. The body of the woman drops all the wait down. Amelia drops her body slowly in the floor. She then pulls the syringe of her rucksack and injects her on both thighs and then one more shot in the neck. She quickly stretches her airless bag and slides the woman’s body in it. Within a second, she sucks all the air of the bag. The woman’s body compresses very hard until it is all manageable for Amelia to carry her through to the balcony and then throw her over the fence onto the fields. It takes her almost twenty minutes dragging the ten stone body to her tent. Once in there, Amelia has a few more steps until she reaches the car. She calls out her drone, folds it, sticks in the big charger box and onto the car. It’s dark out there. From the distance she can see that the whole castle is lit up by now. The noise of drones from afar is heard. Amelia drives off very fast and heads onto the motorway bound for London.

**

‘Yes. I confirm I have a cold and I need to come and pick-up my medicines!’ Says Amelia on the message sent to the Institute. ‘At the usual spot. By the London Zoo. Pick-up the meds from Bow Lane.’ The response is received back promptly. With a compressed body in her bag and a little bit of a ride all the way to the city and then onto Regents Park, she has a huge task ahead of her. Trying to avoid cameras is a pointless task. The best one she can hope for is that she will look as normal as one can be. There are about a dozen of bike-riders working for several firms in the city. She will blend in quite well enough. She merges out of her flat looking smug but confident that she will be able to ride all the way down the Hanbury Street without being spotted or stopped. The road is long, and it makes it longer and harder when one knows that the place is swarming with police and private detectives. Old Spitalfields Market is heaving with people. Amelia, although is feeling nervous with the load she is carrying, she stops and just stares from the distance to see how people are enjoying themselves. She hasn’t got time to be nostalgic. It’s the weather that is playing with her mind, or the act of taking some innocent woman’s life last night that had kept her awake for most of the evening. She continues her ride and the pick-up area. Regent’s Park is busy. There are police patrols everywhere. For a moment she is paranoid about all of this but then she realises that these officers aren’t anything but police clamping down on speed. She goes past the Zoo on her right and an officer cut in the middle of the road and directs her to pull up. She is terrified now. She didn’t have any car in front of her and she didn’t speed. So, what is the point of being stopped! She enquiries in her mind. ‘Good morning, Ma’am. Do you know the reason I have stopped you?’ The officer enquires. ‘I don’t actually know officer!’ Amelia responds. The officer looks slightly bemused. He politely asks for her driving licence. She hands him the licence and then begins shaking. The officer undistracted asks her if she is ok! ‘Am fine. Just haven’t taken my diabetes tablets this morning!’ She responds. He looks at her keenly to know more. She lowers her head and wants to give the impression to the officer that I will leave you alone do what you must do. Then he says, ‘Do you mind opening the boot for me please!?’ At this stage she is terrified. She turns the engine on and opens the door. Then gets back in the car again. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Then she comes out of the car to much of the officers’ amazement. She walks slowly towards the boot thinking in her head what lie is she going to come up with. She opens the boot. The big box with human remains is there. ‘Huh. Sorry, this is my fitness class kit. I am running a class in the park. Sorry!’ The bursting of confidence can be seen in her eyes. ‘Would you like me to open the box?’ She asks the officer while her fingers have a good grip on the zipper of the box. ‘No, don’t worry. Am ok. That’s fine. Listen ma’am you need to slow down when in the park! Please. As you can see there are a lot of people riding along the park and I wouldn’t want you to knock one over. Here is your licence and please be careful. Have a good day.’ She takes the licence slips it through in her back pocket, closes the boot and onto the car. She drives off a few yards until she finds a parking space, having the officer clearly on her sights watching him in the rear mirror.

13

William the Redeemer

First meeting of the morning can be described like a warzone. Thicke is not very much impressed. Chloe seems to be much more robust on her approach to tackling the suspect. But Thicke isn’t convinced. He wants to have more time. He wants to monitor her constantly, without any interruption. ‘24/7. I want her on the loop before we do anything else. This is important!’ He tells the team. Agim complains of the lack of resource to accomplish that. ‘Let’s use what we’ve got but without retorting to using contractors. I don’t want contractors. I don’t want outsourcing. I don’t want outsiders!’ Thicke instructs them. For Chloe this is bad practice. This means that they are going to break the law with this surveillance strategy. She doesn’t agree but is too thoughtful about objecting in the group. Kwame is adamant that something needs to be done before the suspect commits another murder. Agim seems unconvinced but unable to determine what he thinks. He is typing away on his pad. Chloe jotting stuff down and Thicke plays with his pen, one leg over the other with his chair pushed back and thoughtful. ‘I know that this might be asking too much for the team, but we’ve got to realise that this is too big a chance to slip off our hands. We have a golden opportunity to catch her on the act. I mean, just look at the opportunity we have here – she literally lives just round the corner. It’s the goose waiting to be slaughtered am afraid.’ Chloe nods her head. This is important for Thicke. Chloe’s semi-approval and support means a lot. He doesn’t actually care what her ‘Human Rights’ leanings and thoughts on the subject are. If result is achieved, he will be happy. He looks at her and Chloe nods again. Kwame is reserved but nods too, Agim is caught surprised but then after realising that everybody is staring at him, he nods too. ‘Right! K you cover foot patrol, A do the usual Tech, Chloe, I might need you to coordinate the enterprise.’ He gets up and, on a whiteboard, he writes “Project Monroe”.

‘Is it because she is blonde and looks like her!?’ Agim asks stupidly. ‘Yes. You got it mate!’ Thicke responds. They all scatter. Thicke notices that he has a missed call on his phone. He rings the number back. ‘Hello. I received a call from this number.’ The voice on the other side of the phone is familiar. ‘Hello sire. Its Paul. Do you have a minute to talk!’ Paul sounding keen to talk. ‘Of course. Shoot.’ Paul sounds distracted. ‘Bear with me Thicke. Just about to come off the taxi. Bear with me.’ The sound of air-taxi doors closing can be overheard. Thick shuts the door of the sound-proof room and turns the lights on. ‘Hi, sorry. My apologies. Just wanted to come back to you since we had our last chat. Listen Thicke. Things are tricky. I need you to be aware that this investigation you have been lumbered with it’s a tricky one. I know you probably have come very close to finding out who the suspects are. I can tell you who the suspect is – that’s not the issue.’ ‘We have the suspect!’ Thicke said prematurely and biting his tongue. ‘Oh, you do!?’ Paul said surprised. ‘Well, I guess half of a job is done. I cannot emphasise strongly enough how important it is that you be careful with that Thicke!’ Paul says. Thicke is taken aback. He is slightly confused of the warning. ‘I don’t understand!?’ He spoke. ‘Huh. Phew. Listen buddy. There are a lot of interests involved on this. Other agencies have been monitoring and watching this suspect. It has been sub-contracted by the Met without you even knowing it. There is a separate line of enquiry on this and not many people are in the know. I have intercepted messages going forwards and backwards between the agencies. There is a lot of interest on this. You are being pawned Thicke. You got to realise that, and this is nearest to pure honesty I can be with you on this one, am afraid. My advice would be just pull back and let the others sink in on this one.’ The last word “…let others sink in” is a powerful one for Thicke. It arouses his curiosity even more. ‘Ok. I get it. Let me talk to my team on this one!’ Thicke responds. ‘You don’t understand Thicke – you need to pull out now, today…’ Thicke improvises a crackling of the phone line by rubbing the eraser against the whiteboard ‘Am sorry, Paul am losing you…hello, can you hear me? Paul’ ‘I can hear you. Its crackling. The line is bad…Thicke, Thicke!’ And then Thicke hangs up. Immediately phone rings. It’s the same number. He awaits until ringing stops and then switches the phone off. He sits back and exhales a lot of air off his chest.

**

‘I have a lot to report T!’ Kwame messages Thicke. ‘Fine. Let’s catch-up in a few minutes. Am in Truman’s!’ Thicke replies. ‘I can meet you there in five…!’ Kwame responds back. ‘No…mmm let’s meet in the office. Thanks’ Thicke responds bluntly.

She is too shy to walk in and see Thicke inside the pub. Slightly frustrated and losing patience she texts him to say that she is waiting outside. ‘Come on in!’ He texts back. She then walks in and everybody in the pub recognises her. The manager comes round the bar area and wants to say to her that she is not welcomed here. Thicke intercepts him and tells him to leave her alone. ‘You have nothing to do with her. Now I feed her!’ He then grabs his hand and with his eyes pointed deadly on him he asks him to back off and go to the bar and avoid making a scenery before it’s too late. The prick moves over and Barmaid walks in kisses Thicke on the cheek and pretending that all is fine, she says ‘What’s up mister!?’ Thicke looks at her and then says ‘Listen, I have to go back in the office. Why don’t you head back to the hotel and wait there for me? I have transferred some money in your account. I might be a while but should be there before seven tonight!’ He puts his right hand in the pocket of his overcoat. ‘But I have to brief you on a few things all to do with your project.’ She spoke. Thicke is slightly taken aback. He looks at her focusing deep on her eyes. ‘What about? The recent killings?’ He spoke. ‘Yes!’ She says ‘Recent killings and more. I have it here with me in my pad. I will show it to you later tonight. I have been a good girl haven’t I!?’ She says enthusiastically. They leave the pub and outside Thicke calls a taxi. ‘We’re heading for the hotel now!’ He tells her. The ride to the hotel is only a few minutes. He strokes Bar-maid’s hair and kisses her. He doesn’t want to come across as desperate, but he is very desperate to know what she knows, and he wants to know that quick. ‘You see! You didn’t know that I had this super skill with pads. You didn’t know that I used to work for a fintech for a few years and I handled over twenty million customer enquiries in my previous roles!’ Thicke shakes his head ‘I never underestimated you. I knew that there is a lot of potential in there and I knew that you are more than just a Bar-maid.’ They walk into the room and Thicke’s mind for that second is on her. He starts to touch her everywhere, strips her top off and then her skirt and his trousers and the shirt.

‘I honestly didn’t know you were a geek!’ He tells her after a good session in bed. ‘Let me show you what I have discovered.’ She grabs the pad and first thing that comes up on the screen it’s a dark page with “RED UNDERGROUND” emblazoned at the top of the page. ‘You see this is the modern version of the darknet. It’s fun. I spend a long time in it. Searching and browsing stuff. Tell me something that you like? Like secretly? Like any sort of secret wish that you may have you wanted to see on the net, but you can’t because you are constantly monitored…? Give me anything?’ Thicke hesitates but wants to give her something. But then he stops and reflects hard on this one. He doesn’t want to give a lot away but also; he wants to say something. ‘Come on darling. Anything. Like what do you say you want to access Gerome Johnson’s account to see how much he is worth for instance.’ When she mentions Gerome’s name, not only he is the richest man in Britain, but Thicke and Gerome go a long way back to the uni days when they were both struggling students trying to make ends meet, ploughing on with their studies at the time when shagging was hard to come by due to lack of money. This is the time when Thicke had felt the conniving feeling of being consistently under pressure. No one even he himself hasn’t ever been able to understand this moment during his life at university. But Gerome brings a lot of other interesting angles for Thicke. Gerome is the reason he has got onto this profession at the first place. ‘Will are you alright?’ The barmaid tries to get a sense of what’s going on with Thicke’s séance moment. Thicke can’t recover quick enough. A feeling of consistent rejection encapsulates his thinking. He freezes infinitely a situation which worries the Barmaid. She touches him in the shoulder and then touches his forehead to see if she can get to disrupt him from the peculiar experience. ‘Thicke are you ok? What is happening?’ He only manages to come around after a persistent shaking and whatnot that the Barmaid had to employ. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what happened there!’ Thicke said. ‘it’s fine. Are you feeling, ok?’ Barmaid asks. ‘Yes, yes am ok. Am ok. Let’s focus on this…tell me more!’ He says without realising that he was supposed to be the one to help, getting that feel of starting off the exciting Red Underground. ‘Let’s say for instance that you want to type in something to do with the British and American Joint Interspace Programme! You look at this tiny screen here and just think about the programme and see what happens. Thicke levitates his head towards the pad and stares at the tiny screen which is in the lower right far corner of the screen bar. Within a fraction of a second a giant opening of the space programme opens showing live feeds between the cruising team and the control centre in Cheltenham and Houston. The astronauts talk through their helmets giving a detailed insight of what they are seeing in the interstellar. Thicke isn’t that impressed and wants to delve deeper by screening his eyes and thinking of a porn channel he used to favour a lot. Again, scenes of all sexual penetration scurry out of the screen, giant men with petite women having intercourse which doesn’t impress the Barmaid much. ‘No, we’re changing this!’ She laughs and feeling disgusted looks at Thicke and wants to look for more stuff to look at as this malarky goes on, both of them are utterly oblivious of the fact that the reason they are in the room, in the hotel it’s the unknown unknown for a moment until Thicke reminds the Bar-maid that ‘I think it is time for you to tell me what you wanted to show me!’ The barmaid laughs. ‘Of course. Sorry. I nearly forgot. Got carried away with all of this exciting thing!’ She then looks at the tiny screen and thinks of the recent Met cases and other cases which haven’t been reported yet. The screen is filled up with endless information on suspects, cases unsolved, solved and about to be solved. The barmaid opens the Excel-sheet on the right-hand corner of the screen, and this arouses Thicke’s curiosity. ‘What’s that in red?’ He asks. The barmaid clicks on the column and instantly the screen widens with pictures of people which have numbers underneath their names and the numbers are in red too. Thicke’s mind goes straight at the missing and London has its share of missing people. Since 2050, Spring of that year, there has been several missing in the city. Mainly from a younger age population. Since then, there’s been at least fifty-five cases of missing persons. All unexplained and utterly mysterious. Thicke is befuddled. ‘How many are there?’ He asks barmaid and then he jumps off the bed and goes for his briefcase to pick up a pen and paper to write down the number and more details. ‘There are twenty-five people so far. And, yes you are right, most of them are young on their thirties!’ She then types something on the search bar at the top of the screen. ‘Come and see this Will.’ Thicke is distracted jotting down a few thoughts on his notepad. ‘What is it?’ He asks inquisitively. ‘Look at this!’ She shows him a live conversation which is being conducted between two senior officials at the Home Office. ‘It’s the political wing. It’s the nutcases. I wouldn’t worry about them!’ Thicke tells barmaid. ‘No, no. Come and read some more…’ she tells him. He sits next to her and with one hand he is writing on his notepad and on the other holding his finger in the mousepad area skipping bits from the previous chat in the box. Then he stumbles on the “Charles Cross Veterinary Exploration Institute”. He can’t believe it. He smells blood. He then pulls his folder and within it he has the documents he picked up from Fleet Street. He reads through the document and tries to make sense. It bothers him that this institute appears twice in front of his attention and this within a very short period. He jots down a few more notes on his notepad. The barmaid continues to screenshot the conversation and transfers the whole lot on his smartphone. ‘No, no, don’t do that, no…!’ He tells her slightly upset. ‘We can’t do that. They will trace it and know that I have been listening to them.’ The barmaid tells him not to worry because chances of that happening are slim and the transfer is done off the network via Hypernet. ‘Hypernet!?’ He asks curiously. ‘Yes. The Hypernet. Is…’ The barmaid tries to explain. ‘I know what it is. But `I thought you have to be licensed to carry that!’ He intercepts. ‘Ah don’t worry, I have found ways around it…!’ And she laughs. ‘Wow girl you are something!’ She takes the compliment lightly. ‘Do you think there’s something in here?’ She asks him, pleased that Thicke is showing more interest on her skills than on just having sex with her. ‘Yes, there is lots. But I have to go my sweet friend!’ He kisses her in the forehead, puts his trousers on and heads off for the door. Barmaid is slightly disappointed. He hasn’t allowed much to be wished for. His disappearance in a whiff makes her a bit nervous. She is starting to wonder whether he is ever going to share anything substantial with her. These fast-disappearing acts are not a good sign of deep and meaningful relationships. She looks again on her screen and for the last second wants to be able to make sense why would she risk so much just so she can satisfy her own low levels of Oxytocin. But is it really all about Oxytocin or is it something more!? She wonders incessantly and without any hindrance that this might well be some kind of Déjà vu from a previous relationship where everything was built for the sake of meeting each other’s natural needs, but then, things fell apart because she was not ready and incongruous enough to have been able to sustain a long-term relationship. So, what did she do! She let things fall off the cliff. Deliberately setting in motion a trepidation that even to this day is impossible to detach herself from it. The barmaid looks at the screen continuously, without any sense of awareness why is she doing that. She reflects for a few more moments before she realises that she has given up a lot from her life and not much seems to be in the horizon, in the form of payback.

**

Everything about Project Monroe is going well. I guess, according to the trio who have overseen delivering the results. Chloe seems more nervous since they have undertaken the difficult decision to keep a tap on Amelia who now is the suspect. Kwame knows very well that he must show proactiveness and be on the street rather than stuck in the office. Agim is doing what he does best, having four or six eyes wide open and keeping an eye on each of the random behaviours coming from Amelia. It’s not an easy project, but then again it is more than just a project although having said that, Thicke hasn’t said much to the team. He hasn’t been very transparent and sharing a little bit more on the extra-miles of work he has committed himself to do. He walks in the office and straight-away one thing just hurt his eye – the scene of a full office – ‘Come on guys. Don’t we know we are running a project now!?’ His usual call to the troops appeal surging out of his mouth. Chloe is the first one to draw his attention to Thicke on something. ‘I think we have got quite a lot in the past twenty-four hours on her. She pulls the wall-screen up and asks Agim to show the presentation. ‘These are all traces of her whereabouts in the past twenty or so hours…!’ Chloe says, pointing her laser pointer on the screen. ‘There are all in all over fifteen different locations and foot-prints we have recorded. Two of these FPs are in one location, and this is Covent Garden area, Dean Street where she seems to have somebody there whom she meets quite frequently.’ Then as if by magic she moves on to the next slide and shows a video. The video shows Amelia meeting Xi. The hovering drone has only managed to capture the words “You are undercutting us” which Xi has pronounced it with a little bit of anger. You can clearly see Amelia’s upset face and the disappointment. She is nervous and keeps her hands in her back pockets. Then the drone captures her leaving Dean Street and heading off for the Haymarket Place, just round the corner from Covent Garden. Thicke tries to grab a chair next to him, with the pencil half in his mouth, he asks ‘How is that meant to give us any clues without us doing the leg work!?’ He is right, Kwame thinks to himself, but the trouble here is that the ball is in my court, he thinks ‘Yes, that’s right boss. But we have a plan.’ Kwame begins his introduction of the plan lay-out. ‘I think what we need to do is use spare resource that we have by utilising drones in the area and then move quickly enough onto the leg-work part only when we’re sure that we have something. I just think that the old-fashioned methods can cause a blow-out rather than help us to reach our objectives!’ Thicke isn’t happy but feels like he doesn’t have to say anything. Now, of course. ‘I agree!’ Agim says innocently but naive enough not to realise that Thicke isn’t on board, and he is calculating cannily. Chloe doesn’t say anything either. ‘I think we need to be a bit more clinical. I think we need to access her flat. We need to know what’s in there and understand more of her lifestyle. She is making too many mistakes, but they are not that revealing. So, I guess we should be able to have more in our hands before we make any decisions to further expose ourselves and then, probably, highly possible that we will lose her.’ Thicke likes the rationale but is unsure whether this is something that will be enough. He looks at all of them, gets up and then mutters something unintelligible to himself and then as if a big roaring St Andreas scale earthquake says ‘We should have the chance to interview her somehow. I don’t want this recorded anywhere. We should somehow lure her onto our “Comfort Zone” and then in one way or another keep her under interrogation. We should use Pentazocine to keep her in the “Comfort Zone” for a few days until we get something out of her. I mean for Christ’s sake she is a descendent of Jack the Ripper and we can’t let this one opportunity that we have now, slip out of our hands.’ He then looks at the shocked audience. Chloe is less shocked than the others. She has worked with Thicke for quite some time and knows how he thinks and what he is capable of and especially when it comes to interrogations and information extracting techniques.

Kwame doesn’t know what to say. Agim looks at Chloe and says, ‘I can’t believe you are not saying anything!?’ Chloe with her head down lets a smile, a small smile which annoys Kwame but pleases Thicke. ‘Come on guys. I mean we have been very lucky with this contract, and we might be able to hit it big once we solve this problem. We will have a huge funding stream come our way for at least another five years.’ They all know that Thicke does play the emotional game occasionally. But this time round they are not sure whether he means it. Kwame is confident that, you know he will be able to get another job somewhere else but the thrill of doing this job with these people, keeps him footed in the ground. He knows he will have to start from the scratch. ‘I think there is a rationale for that!’ Chloe says. Agim agrees and then Kwame is the last one to nod his head. Huh, only if it wasn’t for him to think that he is the one who is going to do the “hard work” in any eventual capturing of `Amelia.

‘Ok!’ Thicke spoke. ‘I have a roadmap in mind.’ Everybody is intrigued. You can see it clearly in everybody’s mind. ‘I think that looking at the actual itinerary of hers, we have two or three gaps we can exploit.’ Thicke said in a more commanding done. He knows that he has all of them in his pocket, although illegal and contrary to the values that the agencies uphold, he knows this is hardcore and he needs to have everybody on board. He doesn’t care whether this is willingly or just diplomatically. He has them all. Chloe is central to his plans. ‘The first gap we have is the back garden at 21.00hrs when most of High Street CCTVs are focused on the front rather than at the back. We brake in and conduct off-the-record interrogation without giving her the impression that we are cops. Secondly, our safe house in Ealing. Isn’t too far from British Museum – her workplace. To execute a successful plan on this occasion – we need to access her daily contacts so we can modify her appointments and do something in the nearby, in the park for instance. And lastly, we could invite her for an interview in our Haymarket Hub and then conduct most of the work there.’ He sits down and after he puts his leg, he looks at Chloe before pointing the finger at Kwame and asking him what he thinks. Kwame is caught off-guard but for him the process can be smoothened up if they make a joint decision how and when to strike. ‘I think, I have an idea how we’re going to handle this.’ He said sounding confident and slightly cocky exactly the behaviours that Thicke doesn’t like seeing on his team. ‘Ok. So, are we nearing a solution which needs to happen quick or is this just some kind of premeditated escape route to a fuck-up?’ Thicke said.

‘Actually, I am inclined to agree with your first point. I think we have a better chance to go through any inconsistencies ourselves. I mean regarding the fuck-up, I think we should just be careful and not entangle ourselves in a never-ending web of options and alternatives when we have an opportunity to make everything simple.’ Thicke looks at Kwame slightly bemused but deflated too. He wants to express himself a little bit more but can’t and is unsure whether he is going to be able to contain his expressive veneer on Kwame. He remembers very well when Kwame was an absolute arse a few years ago. He had high hopes of Kwame, but his share of let-downs and cockups are quite a number. Thicke knows that if he doesn’t say something to turn this conversation into a more interactive but proactive exchange at the same time, soon and quick, the chances are that the team are going to feel the burden of a big dilemma, thinking, obtruding if all of this is worth it. ‘Ok. But we need to keep her fit and unbruised!’ Thicke tells Kwame. ‘Of course!’ Kwame responds. Kwame looks at Chloe to see any other reaction which will tell him something else. He is not sure if there is an agenda behind all of this. He begins to doubt whether this is all done in a proper and honest way. He is not sure whether he is going to be able to admit to himself that at any cost, this is his mission. He needs to think of an escape route. The best he could come up with is a text message to Chloe “What? Am I forking out all of this by myself? What should I do?” Chloe ignores the message. Thicke pointing his eyes at Chloe, senses that the situation is not as he wished it. He then looks at Agim whose indifference slightly annoys him. ‘Are we to work as a team here?’ They all nod. Kwame is more lippy. He bites his upper lip but is not willing to say anything. His mind is travelling miles per hour. He doesn’t know how to behave. He then changes tac. ‘I guess you are right. I do have the experience and the resource to pull this off, but I might need to take a couple of days for a lot of things to sink in. ‘tell me now if you are not that much interested! I need to know that your heart and all yourself is in it and that you are invested on this K!’ Thicke tells Kwame. He nods but he hasn’t got an actual plan on his head. He feels like he is a rabbit in the headlights now. After he gives another ok, Kwame leaves the office, he needs air, he needs to absorb all of this.

Agim starts to design the details of the project. Chloe begins scouring all the data for drones which operate in the area. She collects all the data and other details such as drone operating/patrolling times, make and ownership of those drones, habits and inconsistencies, areas of capture and scope, who the personnel are etc. As she browses the data log, she notices that some of the drones haven’t been logging their patrol rights issued at all. She looks at the screen for a detailed confirmation. ‘Buggers. They haven’t logged anything on!?’ She mutters to herself. ‘How is that possible?’ She persistently enquires in her mind. She feels like she wants to say something to Thicke. She continues to browse after a frantic and quick data-search on the background, she notices that there are three ‘Eagle’ drones that operate above Amelia’s flat. The owners are erased. No details, no information whatsoever, not even a digit appears on the logs. She decides to use all credits on the logging portfolio to access livestream. Drones are hovering above head. They scrum around the area on top of Amelia’s balcony. After a few penetrations around the area, Chloe notices that these drones fly off speedily without leaving any trace, and that only happens when the area operators blend in the area. This is odd. But it isn’t. They fly away because they are operating illegally in the area. She checks the number of feeds now of her investigation. Its only three and they are all the Met operators. She then keeps her logging in but switches the line onto the subnet. The database on the subnet is crowded. Full of illegal and nefarious activity, she tries hard not to distract herself from the aim of what she is trying to achieve. She then scours through the visual data recording where a wealth of information is collated with the purpose of purifying the actual from the fake accounts of all data streams on the net. In the right-hand corner of her screen, she notices the shape of SpaceX rocket . She clicks on it and this whole stream of live data is displayed on the screen. From astronauts on the mission to Venus all the way to perplexing and completely underestimated workers who are debauched from the reality and are digging on the deeper horizons of earth looking for immense wealth. A snappy video of a diver and a mini sub attempting to reach the depths of Challenger Deep. She knows that something is not right with this mission as the diver keeps on reporting that she is seeing something coming her way but can’t work out what it is, and the control centre keeps ignoring her calls. She probably is the only person on earth seeing this alive. Chloe tries to send her a message by using the coded route on the network but is unsuccessful. She then tries to contact the diver sub-station in the nearby Pacific fleet, to no avail. She then informs the 2nd fleet of the Royal Navy and asks them to try and help the diver who seems had lost all contact with everybody in the outside world. The Royal Mariners respond positively and promise her that they will help the diver. She then informs the Met that she is online and had intercepted this feed accidentally as she was dealing with an encrypted investigation. The Met promises her that they will investigate it and will inform the authorities. She then tells them that the Royal navy have been informed but is not sure whether the Americans have been informed of the issue. ‘Can you please cascade? Or would you rather permit me to inform the world!?’ She asks ‘No, this is clearly a Western hemisphere national security issue, and it will be dealt by us.’ The response comes back from the official monitoring the world online. ‘Ok. Thank you!’ She is very unsatisfied with the answer but needs to leave things alone just in case this becomes a huge headache for the agency and for Thicke especially when he finds out that Chloe has been penetrating the subnet for agency work. She sits back and feels a deep sense of unease. She just feels that she is a passive member of society, and she hates that fact. She doesn’t feel comfortable. She can’t take her eyes off the screen. She mutes the screaming and the desperation that this woman is found. Staring at the screen doesn’t help nothing at all. She looks at the log-in register and suddenly it is filled with loggers from the U.S Army and British Navy Fleet. She senses a slight relief. She then is asked to leave the “Post” immediately. This is a message from the Fleet commander of 2nd Airborne Division U.S Army. Tears begin to drop from her eyes. ‘At least she is being looked after!’ She tells herself quietly.

Kwame approaches Chloe’s desk and asks if she has a few minutes to spare. Unhesitatingly she says “Yes!” knowing full well that all Kwame wants to do is pick up where he left off with his message. ‘Look, I think we are things up here. I know a little bit more about Amelia. I think she is a no-go area for us!’ Kwame sounded distressed and slightly frightened. ‘What do you mean?’ Chloe asks keen to know more. ‘Well. I have this source whom I use for West-End section – He has come across some intelligence from lorry drivers that indicate Amelia is part of a bigger group of well-connected and wealthy individuals who control the ‘Pink market’ they call it.’ Chloe sits in the chair and tells Kwame to continue ‘Well, this is scary, and it gets weirder. This source tells me that he has delivered a lot of pink material to an address in Soho. This pink material being dead bodies. He had seen it with his own eyes. He has disappeared since he’s told me this and I am worried that he has been tracked or that somebody knows that he had told me and that they have gotten rid of him.’ Chloe knows that Kwame wouldn’t say anything that’s not true. She knows very well that Kwame wouldn’t make anything like this up. ‘Have you run the log on your source?’ Chloe asks. ‘Yes. I have. Only three days ago!’ He looks perturbed now. ‘Oh no!’ Chloe mutters. She weaves her hair right at the back and exhales ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck. They know that we have been tracing him. They know we’re onto something. I think Thicke and the whole agency is in danger. We need to speak to Thicke!’ Kwame is about to panic even more. ‘What’s that going to do? I mean what if he is involved in all of this?’ When he says that, Chloe doesn’t know what to say. First thing that goes in her mind is the ever-deeper conspiracy that this has the potential to develop into and the implications for everybody else in the agency. She looks over to the office from the glass encased room where she is in with Kwame. Then she turns toward Kwame and asks him to calm down and not start spreading conspiracy theories unnecessary. ‘I am not. I know what I am talking about!’ Kwame said, keen to be well understood and be taken seriously. After a few minutes of rumbling thoughts and all sorts of schemes that were going through her head, Chloe asks him to lay low, get on with the project and ‘…let’s catch-up first thing tomorrow morning at the Delo café round the corner.’ Kwame agrees, he picks up his notebook and the pad and flees the room. Chloe stays behind trying to get her head around all of this, and trying to see, if any, opportunities arise to turn this round. Can she? Will she? How is she going to do that!?

**

Delo café is a busy place. Next to Liverpool Street, this place is semi-discreet. Chloe doesn’t think that Thicke will ever pass by around here. ‘Let’s not worry about that!’ Kwame says. ‘I know. Am just slightly paranoid. You know what – I haven’t been able to rest at all last night. Our conversation kept me up all night!’ Chloe said. ‘Me too! It’s frightening’ Kwame responds before he pulls up a big folder out of his rucksack. He looks around to see if anyone is paying slightly more attention than is necessary to him. The place is full of people buying their coffees and breakfasts before they embark on their office life. He has got to appear to be calm and to try and have a normal conversation with Chloe. ‘This is invaluable!’ He tells Chloe just as he pulled his big folder from the rucksack. ‘What is it?’ Chloe asks. ‘You see this!?’ He shows her a picture which has been taken by one of the drones. ‘This is Amelia. She is entering this place in Dean Street-Soho. This place is earmarked by the Met as a “Non-Disclosure Location” You know what that means don’t you?’ Chloe wants to say yes but isn’t sure if that would help her cause. ‘It means that the place is kept as a detention safe house for the almighty agencies!’ Kwame adds. ‘Almighty agencies?’ Chloe lets out innocently not realising that Kwame has clocked it. ‘Yes. It’s the secret service dudes.’ Kwame responds. ‘Aha. But what that has got anything to do with what we’re trying to do!?’She asks impatiently. ‘It has to do a lot with what we’re trying to do. Let me show you this…!’ He shows her another picture. Thicke is sat in a café nearby the location in Dean Street talking to a brunette with long hair. From the distance it looks like it is Amelia, but Chloe can’t make out who it is. ‘Is that her? Amelia?’ She asks. ‘Yes. I think it is her. Look at this now!’ He shows her another picture. It’s the Truman pub. It shows Thicke walking in and then sitting at the far end of the bar talking to the same lady. ‘Look at the time! Its 7pm. He finishes here and goes straight to the pub and meets with our suspect!’ Chloe takes this with a pinch of salt. ‘Where are the dates of these pictures? And how you obtained them?’ She asks with a hint of smile. ‘Ah wow. I thought you’d be happy that we are having a breakthrough here. Not trying to put me in a difficult position asking me questions you know full well I won’t be able to answer. It’s my sources. It’s my source!’ Kwame responds while he collects his pictures and wraps up and ready to go. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Look I know you may have second thoughts telling me all these things as I know you are suspicious thinking that I am too close to Thicke. I am not. I am collegial but I have the same reservations you have about him. I don’t trust him that much. I always double-check on his work. I mean just look at the way he has been behaving lately – you know, he disappears off radar every so often, then he leaves office early, now these photos are telling me that there is much more to it than what we can see.’ Kwame tells her that he must leave early so that no one will notice that they have met for a coffee. ‘Don’t worry about that. Tell me more!’ Chloe tells him sounding a little bit more desperate than she allows out. ‘No. let’s keep an eye out. Let’s meet every morning without texting. So, no text messaging or anything like that. You must promise me. We will meet here at 6.30 am every day!’ Chloe says ok. They leave, dispersing quickly before the crowd gathers up in the café.

**

Thicke switches off his ‘SpyMe’ device and jots down a few lines in his red notebook. ‘K will need to sort out. C is a liability. Time to test!’. He then plays once more the line where Chloe tells Kwame that ‘… I don’t trust him that much. I always double-check on his work. I mean just look at the way he has been behaving lately – you know, he disappears off radar every so often, then he leaves office early, now these photos are telling me that there is much more to it than what we can see.’ He calls the barmaid ‘We need to meet. Now!’ He tells her. ‘Ok. I will be there in ten.’ He responds to barmaid after she had told him she’s just round the corner.